I keep resculpting the past with nostalgia until it is as ficticious as everything else in my head.
I want the misty mountains.
Not like they are now,
They were a year or so ago.
In my head,
I’m building them like a tower of cards.
I want them just as they were
In those few hours;
Use the desk lamp to make a summer’s day.
I work slowly,
Heart trembling cards trembling hands steady
And before you barge into the card metaphor
And knock it over,
For a second I am in awe.
Then it falls.